


Take Care of it

by orphan_account



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Betrayal, Blow Jobs, Crying, Emotional Manipulation, First Time Blow Jobs, In Public, M/M, Manipulation, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Sort Of, Tony Stark Mention, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "You don't have to worry anymore, Peter," Quentin murmured against his neck. "I'll take care of everything. I'll take care of you."In which Peter lets some bad decisions get made for him.





	Take Care of it

He had finally yes-noed Peter into letting him try the Edith glasses on. They sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Like they had always been there. _They were always meant to be mine," _ he thought fiercely. 

"What do you think, kid?"

He could see something whirring in the back of Peter's mind. _Come on, just give them to me. Hand over control. _

Peter laughed. "I'm thinking that if I let you wear them any longer I'd have to let you keep them." 

Quentin responded with a laugh of his own. "Now isn't that an idea." Let Peter think he was joking.

But Peter quickly became serious. "Would you mind, could I have them back, please? Mr Beck? Cos Mr Stark wanted me to take care of them, and uhh" seeing the implications he babbled on. "Not that you wouldn't take care of them! But Mr Stark, he, he wouldn't have wanted just anyone touching them, I mean, not that you're just _anyone, _but..." Peter looked at him helplessly. Something dark twisted in Quentin's gut. 

He schooled his expression into his best 'I'm a mentor who really cares about you' face. "This is a lot of pressure, Peter. It's a lot to expect from anyone, let alone a teenager. If I'd been in Stark's place I wouldn't have-" he left the sentence hanging.

Peter looked down and sipped his drink, looking obstinate in the way only a teenager could. "You know, I really think Mr Stark was relying on me to look after this for him. I don't think I'm the best person for the job, I mean, I'm just a teenager, but this is something I feel like I have to do. I don't want to let Mr Stark down."

_Yeah, yeah, we know_, Quentin thought, reluctantly giving Peter back the glasses, for now. _You're got abandonment issues a mile wide._ But the kid wasn't taking the bait. 

"I'll tell you what," said Quentin, very deliberately casual. "Why don't we get you a drink?"

He reached a hand to call the bartender over, but Peter grabbed his wrist. "Mr Beck, I'm not 21."

Quentin laughed, a little meanness creeping into his voice. "The drinking age is 18 here, kid. And what, you can fight monsters and save the world but you can't have a single drink?"

Peter hesitated. Quentin snatched the moment. Before Peter could protest, he ordered two beers, with a lot more of the heavier stuff on the way. Let the alcohol loosen him up a bit, see if Peter couldn't be persuaded. 

* * *

Half an hour and a lot of alcohol later, Peter was rambling so fast Quentin could barely keep up. All bullshit about his vacation being ruined, and his little friend he had a crush on, and finally, about how he'd been afraid Tony Stark had never trusted him and he wouldn't ever live up to his mentor. Quentin rolled his eyes. Stark wasn't shit. 

"I just - I dunno. Everything is so big and so much and I'm just a kid, yknow? 'm just a kid from Queens." The alcohol had stolen any eloquence the boy possessed. 

Quentin would have to proceed very carefully from there. "I think I have to agree with you there."

"What?" Peter was pulled out of his drunken rambling in an instant.

"You are just a kid. How are you supposed to know how to use Edith? In fact," Quentin paused. "I'm not sure you should have Edith at all."

Peter's expression crumpled. His lip wobbled, tears glistening in his eyes. "I don't what t' do, Mr Beck."

He looked so small, so young, at the bar in his Night Monkey costume. Quentin ignored the rush of heat at the sight of Peter so vulnerable. He reached out a hand, placing it supportively on Peter's back. The boy leaned into it, and slipped right under Quentin's shoulder without even noticing. Even better.

Quentin went with it, pulling him closer. "What you need is an adult to tell you what to do," he said firmly. "Give Edith to me, Peter."

The boy looked stricken with doubt, nervous and scared. "I, I don't know if-"

"Peter," Quentin said warningly. "You weren't able to save Tony. What makes you think you'd be able to do this right?"

Peter collapsed into him. His whole body shook with sobs, clutching at Quentin's cape with both hands. "'m sorry," he said, over and over. "Sorry, sorry, I did my best, I did, I-"

"But your best wasn't good enough, was it?" Quentin asked, cruelly. "Peter. Edith. Now."

And amazingly, stupidly, Peter did just that. He pulled the glasses out of his pocket, and transferred control over to Quentin without another sign of protest. He sniffled all the while.

Quentin ran soothing hand down Peter's back. "Shh, you're alright. You don't have to worry anymore. I'll take care of everything. I'll take care of you."

Peter hiccuped and shook, nodding into Quentin's shoulder. "Ok," he whispered. Again, that naivety, that trust, made Quentin's guts lurch.

"Hey," he said, even as he knew it was a bad idea. "I'll get you back to the hotel. I think you've had enough to drink tonight."

He didn't wait for Peter's response, just pulled him up off the car stool and half carried him out of the bar. Peter clung to him like a limpet. But instead of turning right for the hotel, he pulled them both into an alley, behind a dumpster. Why not? He had everything he needed from Peter. He deserved something fun, after all that hard work. He was in the mood to celebrate. 

"Where, where're we going?" Peter slurred, fear creeping into his voice.

"Don't you worry about it, Petey. Just be a good boy for me." He pushed Peter against the wall a bit too hard, the boy banging his head and crying out. "Shh, baby," Quentin murmured. "everything's ok."

With that, he slipped a hand up the boy's shirt, rough fingers finding and pinching a soft nipple to hardness. Peter let out a little squeak. Quentin grinned against his neck. Heat curled in his gut, pushing him to _take. _"Why don't we cool you down a bit," Quentin said, and pulled Peter's shirt over his head. The boy shivered as the cool night air hit his skin, goosebumps rising on his arms. 

Greedily, Quentin ran his hands over the boy's chest, feeling smooth skin and hard abs. Peter was incoherent, only pushing into the warmth Quentin provided. Quentin stroked a hand over Peter's jaw, admiring his wide, glassy eyes and red lips. Quentin pressed a thumb against his lips and they parted. Peter sucked without having to be told, looking innocently up at Quentin, confused and scared but not enough to make him stop. He tried and failed to form words around Quentin's thumb.

"Hey," said Quentin, voice dangerously low. "Don't try to talk, baby. Just listen to me, ok?"

When Peter didn't respond, he dug his other hand hard into the flesh of Peter's jaw. "Ok?" he repeated.

Peter nodded, whimpering. He could tell something was wrong, _really _wrong, but even as he reached an arm up to push Quentin away his wrists were yanked hard above his head. "None of that," Quentin said, not bothering to hide his triumph any longer. He pushed three fingers into Peter's mouth, pistoning them in and out. Peter gagged, spit gathering at the corners of his mouth and dripping down Quentin's hand. He was crying again now, softly and quietly, like he didn't want Quentin to notice. Oh, he noticed. The sight of those pretty tears glistening on Peter's cheeks made his cock strain against his trousers. Peter's mouth was too pretty just for his fingers. He withdrew his fingers and wiped them against Peter's hair. 

Quentin pushed down on Peter's shoulder, first gently, then harder when he didn't comply. He buckled quickly, sliding to his knees, superstrength forgotten. "There we go, easy does it," he murmured. Peter whined, shrinking away. A sharp slap to the face had him wide-eyed and focused. "None of that, now. You want to be a good boy, don't you? Will you be a good boy for me?" he asked, tone dripping with condescension.

Peter whined again, nodding even as his body language screamed _stay away!_

"That's a good boy." He unbuckled his pants slowly, pulling out a red, angry cock. It certainly did his bulge justice. Peter flinched away from it, seeming to realise too late what was going to happen. Quentin grabbed his chin roughly, squeezing until Peter's mouth open. Then he shoved it in, holding Peter still as he choked. Slick, wet heat engulfed his cock, simultaneously soothing and stoking the fire in his groin. Peter tried to pull away, finger's scrabbling at Quentin's trousers. It was almost thirty seconds until Quentin pulled him off, still holding him tight by the hair. Peter gasped, spitting onto the ground. A sob tore through his throat, panic apparent even through the haze of inebriation. 

"Don't be such a baby, Parker," Quentin grunted. "I bet you've done this a hundred times for Stark." Peter shook his head desperately. "No? I think you're lying." Then he forced Peter back onto his cock, revelling in the tightness at the back of his throat as he made the boy take him deeper. "No teeth," he warned. "Be a good boy."

Peter looked up at him with wet lashes, mouth bulging with Quentin's cock. Quentin gripped his head with both hands and rocked him back and forth along his cock. Fear etched itself into Peter's eyes, and Quentin almost came right then. Even so, he didn't last much longer. He pulled out to cum on Peter's face, white ropes decorating his pretty, fucked-out mouth. One glob landed on his eyes. Quentin let go, breathing harshly along with Peter. 

"God, you're pathetic," he said, and tucked himself back in. 

Smugness infused his expression. He'd just gotten everything he'd ever wanted. He was the happiest man alive. 

Quentin took one last look at the boy slumped against the grimy wall of the alley, before striding away. Maybe the boy would find his way back to the hotel, eventually. Maybe someone else would find him, and have as much fun as Quentin just did. He didn't really care. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Peter/Quentin fic so please, please comment!


End file.
